


Death is Nothing At All

by kiwipixel77



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Light, Drabble, F/M, Family, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwipixel77/pseuds/kiwipixel77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd robbed him of so much that day on the roof of the fort. She ran to her fate with a sword in her hand like death was nothing at all. / Alistair's life after Cousland's final sacrifice. Based on the poem of the same title. Exceptionally angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Death is Nothing At All](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/24586) by Henry Scott Holland. 



> A/N: Hello there! So here is a very angsty piece for you! It will contain approximately 5-7 chapters. It's very drabble-ish with almost no dialogue. It was just an idea that refused to leave my mind until I wrote it down. I've been having angsty feels lately, and add DA:O to the mix, along with an exceptionally sad poem I read (Death is Nothing At All by Henry Scott Holland) and this thing was produced. It is my first DA:O fic, but I'm sure plenty more will come. I am slightly obsessed with the game at the moment. And this is also the first story I'm posting on this site, so if I did anything wrong, please let me know! Anyways, read on! And please review with any suggestions! Enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. If I did, I would not be writing crappy fanfiction about it for shits and giggles.

He couldn't entirely say when it had first started. It might have been the first time he looked into her grey eyes as she rounded the corner and approached him in Ostagar, or maybe when she sliced through the darkspawn horde in the Korcari Wilds with grief and hate-fueled passion such as he had never seen. Maybe it was the time she saved the corrupted beasts in the Brecilian forests from a fate worse than death, or when she gave Caridin what he most desired, despite having ultimate power within her reach. Perhaps it was because she had taken in misfits, people with nothing left, and had accepted them into her party without question.

Whatever the reason, wherever it had started, Alistair had fallen in love with Elissa Cousland.

She was bold, impulsive, stubborn, and shrewd, with the sharpest tongue and the most silent step. She was not mean, per se, but she would not hesitate to criticise you when you deserved it. She was exceptionally unpredictable and always kept him on his toes. Some times she would laugh at one of his jokes, and others she would berate him, and tell him he was childish. He never knew what to do or say around her, but that kept him interested.

She intrigued him beyond recognition. He wanted to know how she worked, and what she thought, and why she did the things she did. It was sort of a game for him. He opened up to her, trying to get her to do the same. He teased her, annoyed her, laughed around her, cried around her. He never lied (after the 'I'm a royal bastard' scenario), and he never pretended to be anyone other than who he truly was. He really put everything he had into finding her out.

She was one stubborn victim. She would, at first, entertain him with small talk, and they would jest. It took him a long while to get her to reveal anything about her or her past. And when she did, she only exposed her family name, revealing she was a noble. And almost an entire year later, he finally got to her.

Inch by inch, she told him small bits about herself. It was only in passing or during light conversation. But he remembered every detail and filed it away in his mind for future use. He essentially put her together like a puzzle, piece by piece.

He would mull over her and the pieces he had collected during their long walks in the wilds, to and from towns and landmarks. It kept him occupied while he was not fishing for fragments of her personality, or arguing with that damned witch, or preparing some horrible concoction only he would call 'food'. And when the puzzle was complete, he was left with a woman who was far more complicated than he ever imagined.

She had grown up as a noble in a castle in Highever. Her father was Teyrn, and her mother was the daughter of some Ferelden Bann. She was an adventurous and rebellious child who refused to act the part of a proper noblewoman. She spent her childhood enjoying long romps in the vast grasslands and hills surrounding Highever with her Mabari puppy Kylo and her brother Fergus, and was apparently a nightmare when it came to getting her in a dress and greeting visiting nobles with womanly grace.

She was a carefree spirit, one who was as stubborn as the adult Elissa Alistair had known, but one with a certain content innocence that the king had rarely seen. She refused to not be taught how to fight with sword and bow, and later the dagger, and her mother eventually, albeit unwillingly, allowed her ecstatic father to teach her. For her mother was the one who wished her to behave properly. Elissa had never really got along with her, for they were complete opposites in every sense. She respected her, though, and sometimes grudgingly acted the part of a young noblewoman just to sate her wishes.

It was her father who had her heart, however. Bryce loved his little Mabari, as he called her, for she was just as fierce as the famed wardogs, and one had even chosen her to be his master while she was but a toddler, and he a puppy. To be chosen by a Mabari, her father had said, was a great honour, and showed the worth of the master. He knew his Elissa was unusual and exceptional and would do great deeds. He let her get away with murder, as his wife would say, and maybe that was true. He cherished her and taught her to fight, and she was as important to him as his only son.

And his son, Elissa's brother Fergus, loved her perhaps even more than their father. They were not close in age, but they were close in heart. You could not separate the two if you tried, and indeed, the only other being that had possibly spent more time around her was her Mabari. They played together, trained together, fought together, and adventured together. For there were no other children to play with in the castle, only the visiting ones who seldom travelled with their parents. In their earlier days, the sight of the two young dirt-smudged nobles and their bouncing wardog racing and laughing through the castle halls was a familiar sight. And in later times, the young man and woman could be found practicing their fighting skills together in the training grounds, and jesting with each other down the same halls as they walked. They knew the other better than themselves. And no one was more happy and proud for Fergus than she when he took a wife and sired a son.

Elissa Cousland loved her family and her homeland with all her heart, and they were taken from her in an instant, in one long, horrifying night. She never went into detail concerning her parent's death and her coming to Ostagar, except that Duncan had forced her to leave, and she felt she should have stayed behind to protect them. Alistair knew she blamed their deaths on herself, and try as he might, he could never convince her otherwise.

It was this guilt that sat there and ate away at her soul like a bitter poison, crushing her, exposing her to the deepest and darkest parts of humanity, allowing her a glimpse at what could have been, what _should_ have been, but was never to be.

She couldn't take any more loss, any more pain, and so she had shut herself up, closed herself off to the world, and only dealt with others when absolutely necessary. Her heart, which had loved freely, turned cold and hard. She had sealed it up with a thousand locks and had destroyed every key. Never again would she let her heart get close, to care, to love as it once had. Love was a weakness in her eyes, a weakness that caused you to care too deeply for others. And when that happened, they left you and you could do nothing about it, even though you should have, even though you _could_ have done something, anything, despite knowing that nothing really could be done.

It was a paradox of sorts, a pattern, an infinite loop of despair and helplessness and fault that sent you wheeling and following it's path until you became a ghost, forever ensnared. To break the loop, in her mind, was to break part of the chain. Break that part, and the loop would stop, and no more grief and weakness would befall. And that's exactly what she did.

The change in her went below the skin. She had lost her content innocence, and had fashioned a hollowed heart for herself. The stubborn girl who had once danced and laughed and loved had turned into a stalwart, experienced rogue who now pushed and sneered and hated. Who was as hard as the toughest of rocks.

But rocks _can_ crack, Alistair had thought, and he aimed to do just that. And he managed it.


	2. Cracking Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for the kudos and views! It means a lot that people actually read my stories. I decided to post this because I'm feeling nice/I spent all day writing it. Anyways, in other news, yeeeeaaah, this story will be more than 5-7 chapters. And by more I mean like 12. Oh well. Enjoy this chapter! And don't forget to review with your thoughts or any suggestions you might have!

 

But rocks _can_ crack, Alistair had thought, and he aimed to do just that. And he managed it.

Somehow, the goofy, animated, sensitive royal bastard had broken through her walls, had unlocked the chains, and had touched her heart. He never really knew how he had managed this incredible feat. He had thought she was a lost cause.

If he had known, if she had ever told him, she would have said that she didn't know how he got to her either. He was odd, and aggravating, and immature at times – everything the new, stark Elissa had hated.

But he had a good heart. He cared about others, even those he didn't know, even if helping them would put him in danger. He was incredibly loyal, too. He stuck by her side through it all, even when he did not agree in the slightest with her decisions. But he trusted her, and knew that her choices would get them all through safely and produce the best results in the end. And, even she couldn't deny it – the man was hilarious. He provided her with entertainment, and chatting to him on their journeys always broke up the monotony of travel. In the first year of the party's travels, he was the only one that could put a smile, however small, onto her usually stern face.

His hard work of figuring her out had finally paid off. She knew, little by little, that he was chipping away at her outer defenses. And yet, she didn't stop him. And this was what she couldn't figure out.

Perhaps she let him piece together who she was for entertainment, to see if he had the patience to really do it. Or maybe because she was so full of apathy lately that she just didn't care. It could be because he had slowly gained her trust, and she had let her guard down a few times without her knowledge.

But whatever really happened, the fact of the matter was that Alistair did put the puzzle of Elissa Cousland together. And she realised it one night at camp while he was talking to her in an easy way, spilling bits of collected personal info about her, as if they were childhood friends. Her realisation came to her in a sudden flash, and comprehension crashed down upon her like a waterfall and rendered her speechless.

This man knew her more than anyone else ever had, and he had done it patiently over such a long time. She was shocked to her core. He knew the facts about her past, of course, the bits she revealed to him slowly, but he put the pieces together, had observed her reactions to comments and discussions, and had made connections where it counted. He didn't just know where she came from, who her family was, and what she liked to do as a child – no, he had connected this information to the feedback he received and had dug even deeper.

He knew how she thought, how her guilt was eating her from the inside out, and how she had closed herself off to the world. He knew things about her that she herself probably never knew. And he had done it so subtly, so quietly that she had never in a million years expected him to figure her out.

He never once confronted her about it, or showed off his knowledge, or even informed her that he had finished the puzzle. No, this stupid bumbling man had done the impossible. He had penetrated her walls and unlocked her chains, gently over an entire year, without pushing or prying, and this touched her heart.

She was unsure of what to do. He already knew her, had already reached her innermost depths. Should she let him continue? What would happen if he did? He had already gone this far without her notice, and she was completely unscathed. What hurt could it do to let him in a little further?

Thinking about it, she did admit the former Templar was a very good-looking man. Handsome, even. He had captured her attention more than once, what with the way he smiled lopsidedly, and how he moved gracefully in battle, so different from his usual stumbling. He was tall, and strong, and he had a great body, from what she saw of it while she healed his wounds, or when he undressed and thought no one was watching. She would grudgingly acknowledge that she was sexually attracted to him on occasion. But she had always covered it up, as she had with most things in her life.

It couldn't be too bad to let him be the exception of the promise to herself. Would it?

But what if he managed to steal her heart? She couldn't bear to love another. Her heart couldn't take it, because it knew that those she loved always left her. No, she would not let herself love Alistair.

She would let him go deeper, perhaps deep enough to touch her heart, maybe to even hold it, but never enough to steal it.

It would be an experiment. From then on, she would allow him to get closer to her, and she might even flirt with him a bit. The best that could happen is that she would get a few fun nights with him. A few nights, maybe more, and they could help each other relieve their needs. Perhaps this would help her to loosen up a bit. The worst that could happen is that he's a terrible lover, and she ends it, and nothing more ever comes of it. No feelings, no love, no hurt.

Yes, it was a sound plan. How wrong she was.

For Alistair did not take love lightly. It was not a game, and he refused to be played.

He was shocked, to say the least, when she started to slip in little comments here and there, or when she looked him up and down when she thought he wasn't looking. He caught on, and was thrilled that she was interested in him.

He thought she was beautiful, of course, but that's not what attracted him to her. She was strong, and had endured more pain and hardship than anyone he had ever known. She had lost her whole family in one night, betrayed by the man who they all trusted.

But she kept on going. She became a Grey Warden and pledged herself, her life, to defending the people against the darkspawn. He knew she didn't have to, but she did anyways. She forced herself to move on and do what needed to be done, despite all that she'd suffered. He would have understood if she just gave up, lay down, and left the world of the living. It seemed unbearable to him to continue on existing when all those you loved had gone, and your entire perception of trust, loyalty, and humankind itself had been tested and shattered.

He knew her inside out, thanks to his efforts to piece the puzzle together. He knew she was struggling internally with her all-consuming guilt, and he knew this was why she had closed herself off. He wanted so badly to open her up and let her see the beauty of the world again, and the exhilaration of trust and companionship and love. He wanted to prove to her that he was _not_ Rendon Howe.

And so he put his heart out there for her, and courted her, and he saw changes in her.

For one, she smiled and laughed more. For another, she had reached out to her other companions, wanting to know them better, and gaining their loyalty and trust. She became close friends with them all, and they loved her and did everything they could to protect her. They became close with each other as well.

The best times of Alistair's life, and indeed, if you asked any of his companions, was the second, and final, year of travel they all shared together. They became a family of sorts, and valued one another for their specific part in their story. They laughed together, drank together, danced together, fought together, and cried together. Those times were brief, but burned bright with friendship and love.

And Elissa never knew why, despite the promise to herself, she let that royal bastard steal her heart.

She only intended their relationship to be a physical one. But she got the indication early on that Alistair would not be used. She was ready to pull out and call it quits, but then he had given her that damned rose and had said all that corny stuff, and she just melted. He really did care for her. How could he? How could _anyone_? She had tried hard to make herself inauspicious and distant so that no one would ever want to get close to her ever again. She had known that the ones you trusted most betrayed you and left you. Her family and Howe had proven that. Yet she knew Alistair couldn't, even if he tried.

Maybe it was time for change after all. Maybe not all people were soulless and traitors. Maybe, as an extended section of her experiment with him, she would allow him to love her. And maybe, perhaps, she would allow her heart to love him back.

And so she accepted, and he changed her life. He showed her that there is yet good in the world, and love, and friends, and all you had to do was open your eyes and your heart.

She became friends with her companions, and they grew into an odd, misfit family, with the most random and irreplaceable members one could find. A happy-go-lucky bard-turned-sister, a suave elvish Antivan assassin, a grandmotherly Circle healer, a standoffish soft-hearted Qunari warrior, a brash apostate witch, an obscene drunken dwarf outcast, an affectionate Mabari war-hound, a sensitive former Templar royal bastard, and a rescued noblewoman, one who would be lost and utterly alone if it was not for them. Each one with their own story, each one with no one left in the world, and no reason to continue.

But each one found solace in the others, and they came together, and they changed the world.

And Elissa began to understand the nature of her guilt.

Guilt creates a void in one's soul, so yawning and aching that you simply cannot continue. You begin to shut down, close off, turn away.

It is in all the likeness of the sea – so deep and unknown that you cannot begin to fathom it, and the waves crash upon you with a sheer force of blame and with hard shards of grief, corroding the rocks of the shore, the rocks of your being, seeping into the cracks and crevices you didn't know about, saturating your existence with lies and failed responsibilities and image after image after image of what you should have done differently, and what is your fault.

Yes, Elissa Cousland knew guilt very well.

Guilt was destroying her, eating her from the inside out like a corrosive acid. But guilt would not be her undoing. No, it was not her doom to be consumed by it.

Her fate was to be saved by a foolish bastard. He showed her these deepest parts of herself, the gaping void it had created. And he had filled that void with something meaningful.

And so the noblewoman and the Templar fell in love, and spent a year together along with their peculiar family slaying demons, rescuing innocents, and freeing cities. It was the best times of their lives. They lived without fear of dying, of what tomorrow might bring, of where their journey would take them.

But, as all journeys do, it ended.


	3. Robbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos, comments, and views! It means a lot. This chapter is somewhat shorter than I'd like, but the next part didn't go with it and will be much longer, I promise! Also, I think this chapter is a little rushed, but oh well! It is what it is. I didn't want to dwell on Alistair's depression for too long. It would probably bore you all. Don't worry, I'll explore more of Alistair and Elissa's past in later chapters. Again, please review with any comments or suggestions!
> 
> I also forgot the disclaimer last chapter. So here it is: I don't own DA:O.

They lived without fear of dying, of what tomorrow might bring, of where their journey would take them. But, as all journeys do, it ended.

And when Alistair was being crowned king in front of the city he and his friends had saved, he felt no happiness. He was not proud of what he'd done, he was not eager to lead a kingdom, and he did not desire in the least to move on.

For his lover was gone. Dead. She had died slaying the Archdemon. He should have been the one to die. And the king began to understand what she had felt for the first year he had known her.

He began to feel guilt.

It consumed him. It ate away at him slowly, painfully, until he could barely function. He turned away from his companions, and cast them out of his life. He could not bear to see the pity in their eyes. He withdrew into his room in the palace for days on end, not sleeping, barely eating, and making Eamon deal with the courtly affairs.

His mind was filled with scene after scene of his memories. Some good, most bad, and many were ones he had made up himself. They were alternate scenarios in which she would have survived, not him, or both had made it, or him and her ruling Fereldon together for the rest of their days. He was lost, a prisoner to his own thoughts, and oftentimes he would blend reality and his musings, until he was essentially living a dream. He had worried the palace nurses and had deeply troubled Eamon and Teagan, who had thought the king would succumb to his guilt and grief, and, despite their efforts, the country would be crownless again.

He had always wondered why _she_ was so cold and unyielding and closed up when he had first met her. He knew her, of course, and knew what she was feeling, but he had never expected to feel it for himself. He never anticipated to feel crushed by the weight of his guilt, to be devoured by grief, and destroyed by betrayal. But here he was, living it. Well, if you could really call it living. Alistair was at his lowest, and he hardly realised when a year had passed since the end of the blight.

He vaguely remembered then that _she_ had taken a year to confront her guilt. Had it already been a year since she had gone? It took her but a year, and here he was, a year later, and still trapped in the past, still caught in his thoughts.

He did not want to continue living. There was nothing to live for. She was gone, and all his friends were gone, and he was forced to rule a kingdom that he never wanted. Alone. Yes, he was utterly alone in the world, and it was all his fault. But, as she had so bravely done, he decided it was time to live again.

Not forget, never forget, but to move on, perhaps. In her name. For her.

And so he tried. By the Maker, he had tried to move on. He desperately wished to heed the wise words once whispered to him by the dying campfire early one morning, when all the world was dark and still, and it was just the two of them. "If fate should ever force us into a goodbye, Alistair - " Then he had interrupted her needlessly with forgotten words, while she patiently waited and smiled and her deep grey eyes held an unwanted calmness; "please keep going".

But how was he supposed to? He asked her this, and she whispered, "Call me by my familiar name. Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Speak to me in the easy way which you always use. Put no difference in your tone. Laugh as we've always laughed at the little jokes we share together. Play, smile, think of me, but do not dwell on me. For my sake, turn again to life and love. Miss me a little, but not for long. For you know as well as I that we are never truly gone, so long as those who loved us in life still do so in death".

She had said something similar to those words, though perhaps less formal, as his Elissa Cousland, for all her upbringing, was the furthest from a proper noble one could get. But, alas, he could not remember her exact speech. Such is the waning memory of the living.

He had humbly acknowledged her words then, not taking them to heart, not thinking they'd ever part. For she had told him they'd stay together, no matter what. And he believed her. How foolish was he.

But for all his wishing, all his praying to the gods he never really believed in, she left him, was taken away from him by fate. She was not meant to live in the world she saved, and he was not meant to go with her.

Sometimes he would lie awake at night, after a long session of silent lamentation, wrapped in his expensive bed sheets on his luxurious four-poster bed in his gigantic room, and wish for nothing more than to be lying next to her on the damp hard ground back at camp. Oh, what he wouldn't give to hold her close, to kiss her, to tell her he'd always be there. To say "I love you" one last time.

For he never even got a goodbye. No last kiss, no warm embrace. Just a fleeting glance into her bottomless grey eyes that held no fear, but him to his spot for what seemed a lifetime before she so selfishly ran towards the Archdemon.

He should have known. How could he be so stupid? After she pointed out Riordan's lifeless twisted body amongst the rubble in the streets of Denerim, he didn't even think what that could have meant. His tired body and mind didn't allow him to comprehend the consequences of the other male warden's failure.

But she knew. Of course she knew. She always knew everything. She knew and yet she didn't even say goodbye, didn't let Alistair perform his first and final act as the future king of Ferelden. She didn't let him live out his life, as he should have, with her by his side.

She'd robbed him of so much that day on the roof of the fort. She ran to her fate with a sword in her hand like death was nothing at all.

But despite his resentment towards her decision that fateful day, he chose to heed her words that one starless morn. At first he felt foolish while speaking her name to the empty rooms. How could he talk to her like he always did when she was clearly not here? How could he possibly smile when he knew he'd never see hers again?

But as time went on, and the memory of her hurt a little less with each passing of the seasons, he found himself talking to her in his goofy, animated way, much like they used to on the worn forest paths. He started sharing jokes with her, and he laughed more. His smile was once again a familiar sight in the halls of his palace. He regained his composure, started eating more, talking more, and being more involved in the business of his kingdom. He stopped wandering the halls like a ghost, and instead strode down them with a sense of purpose and belonging.

For as much as he couldn't see her, he knew his Elissa was always near. If Eamon and the court didn't know any better, they'd have thought his old lover had come back from the dead. Which in a sense was true.

If you could ask him today, Alistair, King of Ferelden, would say he was once again a happy man. Not so much as those times they had travelled, but for him, it was enough.


	4. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Again, thanks for the comments, kudos, and views. I'm impressed that I've actually been posting a chapter once a day. Trust me, this never happens! Anyways, this chapter is longer, and we take a look at the return of Alistair's travelling companions. Note that Shale is not included. This is because I never got the DLC, so she was never a companion to me, and I didn't want to write about her knowing nothing of her. And also, it may seem that this story is progressing a bit rapidly. Don't worry, though - there will be more AlistairxElissa angst/romance in later chapters. Just be patient ;p . Thanks, and enjoy!

If you could ask him today, Alistair, King of Ferelden, would say he was once again a happy man. Not so much as those times they had travelled, but for him, it was enough.

He even called upon his old companions. For in the first years after her death, he had refused to speak with them, for all he could see in their eyes was pity, and they would bring back memories of her, of conversations and little moments they spent with her.

Of course they were all of them glad to see him again, and not one of them resented or pitied him any longer.

xxx

The Antivan elf was ever his insinuative, quick-spoken self. Alistair had always wondered why Elissa had enjoyed the assassin's company so much. He had always thought him brash and too coquettish.

But after Zevran had heeded his call, and the king spent his days chatting to the elf who had lived through so much, he began to realise there was more to him than he originally thought.

The elf had a deeply hidden soft side that Alistair thought few had ever seen, save perhaps _her._ Despite his harsh ways and his protests, the elf had loved and lost, and had been victim to some ultimate betrayal. He had endured hardships like any other being, and as such, was not the hardened assassin the king had thought him to be, but rather one who was broken and forced to rebuild so many times that it made the former Templar feel ashamed.

Because of their mutual hardships, the two became fast, long-lasting friends for many years. The elf stayed with the king in the palace for the rest of his days, always saying he would leave the next week, but somehow never quite taking the initiative and sticking to his word.

And Alistair was not at all surprised when Sergeant Kylon informed him one day that the elf had been caught pickpocketing in the market square and had been slain by a startled merchant. He was sad, of course, but he couldn't stifle a small laugh at the thought of his friend dying the way that he lived – breaking the law and at the edge of a dagger.

xxx

Leliana had heeded the king's call as well. Their meeting at the palace gates after her arrival was much like the very first time they met: she rambled on about everything under the sun and wanted to know what the king had been up to, down to the very last detail. He smiled at her warm enthusiasm. He had always liked the sister, even if he did think she was part murderer and part crazed religious fanatic.

She had a soft soul, one that always wanted to help others, and ever since _she_ had aided her face Marjolaine and her past, the bard had come to terms with her true self and had stopped running away from who she was meant to be. She was not the timid Chantry sister they had welcomed into their odd little party all those long years ago. She was an experienced bard who loved all of the danger, intrigue, and killing that went along with that title.

She had an immense love for life, a never-ending thirst for knowledge, and she was forever seeking the truth.

She sat with Alistair in the palace gardens many a night, holding him while he cried to her of his lost love. She would comfort him, telling him that if he still loved her, then she was never truly gone. She was always there; all he had to do was believe.

Without the bard's support for the years she stayed there, the king would most likely have fallen to grief, and he never missed the chance to remind her how much she meant to him.

xxx

The drunk old dwarf showed up at the palace once.

The king was not at all surprised to find his old friend plastered beyond the point of forming coherent speech. His rude and vulgar way was frowned upon by many of the king's court, but Alistair knew the dwarf better than them.

He knew the troubled dwarven soul had been promised a life of success and prosperity, only for it to be snatched away from him. He had lost his wife, his family, his house, his title, and even his weapons. He was trapped in the city has was born to protect, and would have most likely drowned himself in ale if Elissa and her party hadn't come along and swept him away from the caves of the mountains and into the wide world.

In many ways, the king thought himself to be very much like Oghren, and perhaps that is why he tried to convince his friend to stay a while longer. But the dwarf would have none of it.

He had managed to find Felsi again, and had settled down and even had a child with her. His wandering warrior ways had led him to the palace, though, and he yearned to become a Grey Warden. When the king questioned his friend about whether he would return to his family or join the wardens, he simply grumbled a drunken slur of words, gave a gruff goodbye, and left the palace.

The king never knew where he went, and he never saw him again.

xxx

Now Alistair had liked the old mage from the Circle very much back in his travelling days. She was like a grandmother to them all, weak in body, but powerful in mind and spirit. She was a constant source of normalcy and comfort, not pushy and at the front of the party affairs, but a soothing background presence.

He was sure that on hard nights, when all hope seemed lost, and even their leader could find no reason to continue the fight, it was her calm words and encouraging promises that got them all on their feet and ready to face whatever came next.

He knew Elissa confided in her almost every night, and although he couldn't hear what they were saying across the campsite, he knew how much the old woman meant to her. He sometimes wished he could comfort _her_ like Wynne did, but he knew she needed his clumsiness and his love as much as she needed the mage's indulgent conversations.

And so it was with great sorrow that the king had received a letter from a man named Rhys informing him of Wynne's death in an Orlesian Circle. Apparently she had transferred her spirit into the body of a colleague to save her life. How very much like her, the king thought. She couldn't have deserved a nobler death. He had of course known about the mage's condition, and knew that she had very little time left.

He regretted not saying a proper goodbye to his grandmotherly figure, but if he knew her, she would have rebuffed his silly mourning of her and have told him to get along with his duties and his life. And he did.

xxx

Not until many years after he called his old companions did he hear from the Qunari warrior. In his typical fashion, he strode up to the king with a frown on his face and nodded a terse hello before showing himself into the palace.

Honestly, Alistair never expected the warrior to show up. He never showed much liking towards him, or any of their other companions, except _her_. He had told her he trusted her with his life, and called her his Kadan. She had managed to worm her way into his tough, cold heart, forcing a smile or even a light chuckle from the warrior's stern chiseled face.

The king knew the Qunari's story, and though at times he never quite understood his morals and his ways, he respected the man nonetheless.

Sten stayed at the palace for a few years, claiming he wanted to see the place his Kadan saved built anew. The king never talked with him much, and when he did, the Qunari only spoke of _her_ and her brave ways. He told the king his Beresaad brothers questioned him if he ever met anyone honourable in Ferelden, and he apparently told them only one. He missed her, but approved of her noble sacrifice. The king was saddened during these discussions with his friend, but he hadn't the heart (or the bravery) to ask the strong warrior to stop.

And perhaps nothing had surprised Alistair more than when Sten left for his homeland once again, and had said farewell Kadan. He had earned the warrior's trust and loyalty without even knowing it. Nothing for a very long time had made him as proud as when the Qunari warrior had said that small word that meant so much.

xxx

Kylo, Elissa's faithful Mabari, chose his former master's brother as his new one. Alistair was slightly upset that he didn't stay at the palace with him, but soon realised that the Mabari was a true war dog, and would never be content to live out his days in the stuffy palace when he knew more adventures lay just beyond the city gates.

The king saw him on occasion when he accompanied Teyrn Fergus Cousland to important matters in Denerim, and enjoyed the dog's company for the brief time he was there. He would look into the war dog's eyes, and saw great intelligence there, as well as sorrow for his lost master.

The king took strength from the wise, playful creature, and was more than a little upset the day Fergus showed up at the castle with no sign of the Mabari trailing behind him. The Teyrn said Kylo had died in his sleep, and the king couldn't have wished a more peaceful way for his canine companion to leave this world.

xxx

And as for Morrigan, that Witch of the Wilds, he never heard from her or saw her again. Which was just as well; Alistair hated her with all his being, and perhaps more so after she abandoned them the night before the final battle.

He briefly questioned _her_ about the witch's disappearance, but only ever received a blanched expression and a piercing glance by those grey eyes that meant nothing more would be said.

The king would admit to few that he indeed sent out small search parties across Ferelden looking for her. Not because he missed her or wished to see her, oh no! But perhaps to know exactly why she left them all after they went through so much together.

He of course never found her, but he did hear rumours from Orlais that a woman with dark hair in the likeliness of the witch had insinuated herself into the empress's court.

Alistair would be a fool if he didn't believe the witch was capable of that.

xxx

And so Alistair went on with his life. He wasn't as lonely anymore with some of his old companions around, and he was grateful of that. He never failed to thank them for all they'd done, both on their quest and after in the times of peace. They were appreciative of the king as well, for they too missed the company of their old friends.


	5. Life, Love, and Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for not uploading for a few days. I'm travelling the maritime provinces for three or so weeks, so uploads will be spotty. Pretty much whenever I have internet access. Also, sorry for any spelling or formatting mistakes. I'm using a tiny little computer and I'm not too sure how to work it properly. Anyways, thanks for the reviews, kudos, and bookmarks, and as always, review with any thoughts or suggestions, and enjoy!

They were appreciative of the king as well, for they too missed the company of their old friends.

For duties' sake, as he told Eamon, though perhaps more in memory of the words whispered long ago, the king finally took a queen for himself. He was older, and past his prime, but he loved her, and she him.

Her name was Idril, and she was the daughter of Bann Sighard. The king never intended to marry, for he was still in love with his departed warden, but fate is a funny thing, no? He met her during one of the landsmeets, many years after the first fateful one he attended, where his future was in his lover's hands. He was never in a happy mood during the meetings because of this. But he spied the Bann's daughter across the meeting chamber, and her simple beauty and relaxed smile convinced him to approach her after the meeting.

He looked into her face, and saw deep grey eyes, almost exactly like the ones he last gazed into on the top of Fort Drakon all those years ago.

He was smitten, and a year later they were married. She was a wonderful person and a patient queen. She had a great sense of humour, a brutal honesty, and he adored her laugh. She knew about the king's old lover, and never pressed him to forget or move on, and she never tried to replace her. Instead she sat with him and cried when he cried, talked when he was remembering, and laughed with him when he thought about the good times passed.

She was not Elissa; they never pretended otherwise. But he loved her. "For my sake, turn again to life and love", _she_ had said once.

And he did. Two years after their marriage, Idril gave birth to their beautiful daughter.

Alistair could hardly remember being happier. They named her Elissa, much to the king's initial protests. He didn't think he could live everyday being reminded of _her_ in his daughter, but his wife would have none of it.

Little Elissa (as he nicknamed her throughout her life) grew up fast, and her parents were there for her every step of the way. They would not allow a wet-nurse or nanny to raise their daughter like most higher nobles did. They always made time for her, teaching her to fight with the sword and bow, raising her with much love and affection, the way Alistair wished he was raised.

Leliana taught her how to be a stern woman and take no trouble from those who would give it. Zevran taught her how to be sly, and her silver tongue could be traced back to him. Little Elissa loved Aunt Leliana and Uncle Zevran like second parents.

She grew into a beautiful young woman who reminded Alistair too much of the original Elissa. He was proud to call her his daughter.

Because of the taint in his blood, Alistair and Idril only managed to have one child, but as they so often joked, her strong personality made up for three.

He only stayed in the palace to see her into her fourteenth year.

xxx

The king still thought of Elissa everyday, and his heart still ached for her. He missed her dearly, and he still talked and laughed with her. He knew she was proud of him, proud for finding love and life amidst his sadness and her absence.

And slowly, in time, Alistair understood why she did what she did that day. For all the years since, he never quite understood why, and he questioned her about it in his silent talks with her. He never got a reply, of course, but his understanding grew a little every time.

He was out in the palace gardens, walking up and down the aisles of beautiful flowers and shrubs with his young daughter teetering alongside him. It was the place Elissa had liked best, and he always felt closer to her there. All his life since that day wondering, and he finally knew.

It approached him slowly, but came to him in a sudden realisation. Like all the lights in the world were suddenly lit, and the grey rain-curtains were drawn back. The flowers in the garden seemed more beautiful and clear, and the grass turned greener as the sun shone brighter.

He knew. She didn't do it out of duty to the Grey Wardens or Ferelden. She didn't do it out of memory to her betrayed family, or in revenge of those she lost. Not out of a need for justice of the darkspawn. She didn't do it in good faith, in honour, in remembrance, or wisdom.

No, none of those things.

She did it because she loved him. It was as simple as that.

How he had not seen it before, he didn't know. She loved him, and she was willing to die for him, to sacrifice herself so that he could live. She ran to her fate that day, plunging her sword into the dragon with no fear in her grey eyes because she knew, by doing this, that he would live. She loved him too much to let him go, let him leave. So she did instead. She never thought about her impending death, only his spared life. That was why there was no fear in her. She was not afraid, but rather content, that she could do this one last act of love for him.

And then he remembered Idril, and Little Elissa, and all the friends he made and all the people he met since he first came across her that cold afternoon at Ostagar. He loved them all, and he would not be here today with his friends and family if it were not for her.

If she had not stumbled into his life, Maker knows where he would be today. He had his life, however broken it was, and those he loved, in a safe country he could call his own.

He picked Little Elissa up in his arms and hugged her close to him. He then walked over to a red rose bush and carefully picked one of the flowers. And he finally whispered the words he should have long ago to her.

"Thank you," he said, and he walked back into the palace.

xxx

And one day, many years later, there came a moment when he finished telling _her_ of boring business in the court and, turning around, he caught a glimpse of her. It was very fleeting, and at first he was sure it was a trick of the mind. His heart soared and memories came crashing down upon him like rain in a storm.

He hadn't seen her face in nearly thirty-five years, and yet there she was.

But deep in his heart something stirred, and he knew.

Just like she knew all those long years ago, he knew his time had come.

He knew he was being Called.

xxx

He felt depressed knowing that he would be leaving his repaired and joyful life with the wife he loved and the daughter he treasured. He would have to say goodbye again to his companions, for the last time. He would leave them all behind before he was really meant to go, before his natural life was spent.

But the taint has no pity, and it takes no prisoners.

Then again, he was not wholly unhappy when the Call came. He yearned to be reunited with Duncan, and his mother, and Eamon (who had passed away a few years prior), and Zevran and his father and his brother Cailan and Wynne and Kylo and all his lost Grey Warden friends and perhaps Oghren and Sten. _And her._ He knew it was time.

Perhaps death would not be so bad.

It was funny, he thought. He had sometimes wished to be dead after the last battle. He didn't want to live without _her_ , but he also didn't want to let down the country she fought so hard to save. The one she died for. How could he just give up after all their journeying and adventures and near-death battles? After all the sacrifices made, all the people lost? All the quick glances, the stolen kisses, the long nights under the stars?

But he had wanted to. He sometimes desired to just fall asleep and never wake up again. More than once he glared longingly at his sword upon the wall, and thought how easy it would be to just take it down and fall upon it. No more pain, no more suffering. No more long lonely nights.

And best of all, he would be with her again.

Well, he hoped. For he really never made up his mind about where people went after they died. Did they wait in the Fade for their loved ones? Was the Fade their final resting place? Were they doomed to wallow in their Earthly troubles, and were wearied by them? Or did their spirits depart the circles of the world, and leave behind weariness and grief? He knew spirits existed, or at least the memory of them, for he had seen them on their travels. Would he return as a spirit, forever trapped in the world? And if it was possible, why hadn't she come back?

He realised he did not fully understand death, and then became afraid of it.

He then began to wish that he had more time. He wanted to stay at the palace with those he loved for the years that were left to him. But that was the catch - there was always a catch. Being a Grey Warden, he had no more years. And he would not allow himself to become a darkspawn. Not ever.

Though he was grateful to the years he did spend with his family and friends. Perhaps by the luck that at times seemed to follow him, or by the grace of the Maker, Alistair had lived beyond the expected lifespan of a Warden. Thirty-five years was a record, he thought.

xxx

The nightmares started that night. He had not encountered the darkspawn in his dreams since the Archdemon was slain, and as such was troubled by them.

He forgot how real the visions were. He could hear their angry roars, smell their rotten stench. Feel their hatred for all free folk roll off them in waves. He had not seen an ogre since that last day, and he forgot how terrifying they were. He was just glad that he didn't meet the Archdemon again. He probably would have wet his sheets.

And so that morning when he awoke extra early, sitting on the edge of the bed he shared with his wife, he decided that it was time to go. He could delay no longer. He quietly got to his feet and started packing.

He would only take what was absolutely necessary – a bedroll, a small tent, enough food for the journey. He grabbed his favourite old longsword, and as he was putting on his old Splintmail armour, the gear he had first met _her_ in, Idril stirred and awoke beside him.

She questioned him about his actions. He sighed. He wished he could have slipped out of the castle before she awoke. He would have left her a letter or something. He was never good at farewells.

He turned around slowly and told her about his glimpse of _her_ , and the nightmares last night. He told her he was being Called.

She didn't wail, or beg him to stay. She simply said she knew it would be soon, and that she was sad to see him go.

They embraced, and he whispered into her ear a thank you for all the great years he spent with her, and for the wonderful daughter she had blessed him with. She told him she loved him, and that they would all miss him. He asked her to explain everything to Little Elissa when he was gone. For they had never told her who the original Elissa was, and she knew nothing of her father's deeds before her parent's marriage.

Idril also told him to not wait up for her in the Fade, if that's what happened. She knew he had waited thirty five years to see _her_ , and she wished him to leave into the unknown with her. They pulled back from each other, and he smiled.

And with a final farewell, he turned from her for the last time, and walked down the halls and past the gates of the rebuilt city they once saved.


	6. Travels and Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I have found a somewhat adequate wifi connection! Haha. Anyways, nothing much happens in this chapter, except Alistair's journey to the Deep Roads. Enjoy!

 

And with a final farewell, he turned from her for the last time, and walked down the halls and past the gates of the rebuilt city they once saved.

xxx

He walked for a month down the old paths they once used thirty-five years ago.

There was no need, for the main roads were safe ever since, but he wanted to nonetheless, and he could have travelled there in half that time, but he was in no great rush. It was a quicker route to take the northern part of the highway, but it passed too close to Highever, Elissa's homeland. So he took the longer southern ways.

The first night he camped off the road near a small stream in the woods. He felt a sense of nostalgia, and sadness swept through him. He had not slept like this under the stars in such a long count of years, though he went through the evening camp rituals like he had only done this yesterday. Collect firewood, make fire, set up tent, cook food, eat food, relax a bit, then off to bed.

He felt a sense of freedom being on the open road again and being responsible for his welfare. He felt too pampered at times in the palace. But the last time he camped like this, he had a purpose and a full camp with friends. Now he was walking to his death. Alone.

As he stared into the fire that night, listening to the soft bubbling of the stream and the chirps of insects in the summer air, he saw _her_ again in the flames. Longer than last time, and a slight breeze blew through the trees at that moment.

And the king would have sworn on Andraste's ashes that he heard a light voice on the wind, whispering something that sounded very much like " _Alistair"_.

He had nightmares again that night.

xxx

Four days into his voyage he came across a small meadow off the path near the Brecilian forest.

He recognised it during their journeys, and decided to camp there for the evening. It was where he had kissed Elissa for the first time. The meadow had always held a special place in his heart, for it was where he properly confessed his attraction to her, and hers to him.

And again that night, he saw a glimpse of her, this time in the grasses that moved when the breeze blew through them, making the meadow look like a sea of green under the moonlight.

And he heard the voice again on the air, this time muttering " _I am I and you are you"._

The nightmares continued.

xxx

Eight days into his journey, he made camp beside a very large beech tree in the forest. It was a beautiful spot situated on top of a hill in an undulated part of the forests. He was positive their party had stopped here once before, as he could never forget the beautiful view from the hilltop looking east over the massive expanse of the Brecilian, and, if one looked hard enough, the distant waters of the Amaranthine ocean.

He had sat under the tree once so long ago, watching the sun rise over the wilds as his watch shift was coming to a close. The world seemed so peaceful then, and the air was so cold he could see his breath, and he was lost deep in thought until the warm body of his fellow Grey Warden pressed up against him. He looked over to her and smiled. She smiled back. They spoke not as they watched the sun rise together.

But that was long ago now, and the tree was dying, and he sat alone watching the sun rise through the distant clouds.

He had seen her in the leaves of the old beech the night before, and she whispered as the wind blew through them, _"it is untouched, unchanged"._

He awoke from the terror of his nightmares again.

xxx

On the eleventh day, he reached Lothering. The city was much cleaner and not as cramped with refugees as the first, and last, time he visited.

He decided to stop at the inn where the party met Leliana for the night. He drew up his hood and sat at a table in the corner. He remembered being confronted by Loghain's men here, and the ensuing fight and threatening glare _she_ gave them when she told them to deliver a message to the Teyrn.

That was when he saw the true reach of her mercy for the first time. She had every right to kill them, and yet she didn't. When he had questioned her about it later that eve at camp, she had said they were only doing what they thought was right. Why should they be punished for that? He was glad when a waitress finally showed him to his rented room for the evening.

Every night since he started his journey to the Deep Roads he had seen her. In the fire, in the grass, in the water, in the trees. Just glimpses of her. But every night they would last a little longer, and he would see her more clearly.

He also heard that voice whisper little nothings on the breeze. Sometimes it would say something like " _I have only slipped away into the next room"_ , or " _Whatever we were to each other, that we still are"_. At first he thought it was the Old Gods whispering to him, calling him. Duncan had told him once, long ago, that you know you are being Called when the nightmares start again, and the Gods call you back.

But the voice did not utter words of fear or despair. No, it was reassuring, soothing even. It murmured words of encouragement and remembrance, and he wasn't afraid of it. It was then he realised that it must be his Elissa talking back to him. He was comforted, then, and was always eager for nightfall when he would see and hear her again.

But as his visions of her grew stronger, so did his nightmares. He would fall asleep thinking of her, and awake in a cold sweat.

But this night was different. Instead of finding himself surrounded by the darkspawn, he found himself standing on the edge of some ocean, perhaps the Amaranthine. As he gazed out onto the horizon for what felt like both a lifetime and no time at all, he heard a voice behind him, and turning around, he saw Wynne.

She was much younger than he had seen her in life, but it was still her. She walked up to him with her warm grandmotherly smile and said hello. He did not think it odd that she was there, for odd things occur in the Fade and we do not bat an eye.

He asked if he was in a dream, for all his dreams of late were of dark and vile things. She laughed her old familiar laugh and said yes, and no.

He was in a memory, though not his own.

The mage wished to bid him farewell, for she knew where his journey would lead him, and she regretted not staying around long enough to do it while she was alive. Alistair told her he was sorry for turning her away, and just like he thought she would, she rebuffed his apology, saying she was never angry.

Then Alistair had a sudden desire to ask a question he so wanted to know for thirty-five years.

He asked Wynne if Elissa was waiting for him, if she was really there all throughout the rest of his life. The old mage smiled again, and asked if he thought Elissa was not stubborn enough to evade death for a while.

He smiled then, and bid her farewell as she started to fade from sight, and the sea rose and swallowed him with it's warm embrace, and he awoke with a smile on his face.

xxx

He left Lothering that morning, but not before he searched for the rose bush where he found Elissa's rose. It was still there, in the brush by the river, and was now covered in the beautiful red flowers. He smiled, remembering how he stole the very last one a lifetime ago. He left the bush intact this time, and passed the cage where the Qunari warrior was once imprisoned, up to the stone causeway where they rescued Bodahn and Sandal from the darkspawn, and out into the wilds.

xxx

When he had traveled a fortnight, the king set up camp at a small beach on the shores of Lake Calenhad, not a day's journey from Redcliffe.

It was the beach where the party stopped after saving Eamon with Andraste's ashes. That was at the end of their first major quest, and the whole group of them were overly ecstatic and someone had found some wine, and the night wore on with drunken banter and wobbly dances round the fire while Bodahn played his lute.

But Alistair knew Elissa wasn't quite into it the whole night, and he discovered she was still upset over seeing her father in the temple. She told him she could have done something to save them all. She should have stayed and died protecting them. It was the least she could do. But he refused to let her feel down on this joyous evening, and had proceeded to make a fool of himself by standing and asking her to dance with him, and nearly tumbling over into the flames. A smile broke across her face, her grey eyes lit up, and she laughed the rest of the night.

That was a life ago now, and no song or laughter was heard that night on the shores of the lake. The only sound to be heard was the fire crackling and the breeze blowing on the water with the voice sighing _"In sorrow we must go, but not in despair"_.

And he saw _her_ face in the waves of the lake as they crashed upon the sand.

xxx

He still talked to her while he walked, just like he used to so many years ago on these same paths.

And he had a lot of time to think.

He regretted many things he had done in his life, some more so than others.

He would never get over the pain and the shame of allowing her to sacrifice herself. He understood it better now, that was for sure, but nonetheless, he wished things could have been different.

And he deeply regretted not being there for his daughter her whole life through. He would never meet his grandchildren, or be there when he gave the crown to his princess. He would not be present for her wedding, and he would not be there to give her away to the love of her life.

More things the taint had stolen from him.

He wished he had said a final goodbye to her the morning he left, but he knew she would beg him to stay, and he couldn't say no to her desperate pleading. No, it was better this way. Idril would explain it all to her one day soon. Little Elissa would be furious at him, no doubt, but he only hoped in time she would come to understand all what he did and why he did it. She was only fourteen when he left, but she was fast approaching womanhood, and she was one of the most mature and sharp-minded individuals he had ever known.

She would be alright.

And as for Idril, his wife. He hated leaving her there to rule the kingdom all alone. They should have grown old together, and enjoyed their last years in each other's company. They should have spoiled their grandchildren and taken them for walks around the palace gardens, and reveled in the imminent success of the daughter they both loved so much. If he was her, he would have felt cheated. But he knew her, and he knew she was strong.

She would be ok.

Leliana, his faithful companion and close advisor for most of his life, had not been given a proper farewell either. But he knew the bard would understand. That is what he loved the most about her.

They would all be fine.

They had each other.


	7. Stripped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, again, nothing much happens in this chapter, except Alistair's continued journey to the Deep Roads. Enjoy!

They would all be fine.

They had each other.

xxx

He decided against stopping for a while in Redcliffe.

It was his home until the age of ten, and he hadn't seen many of his friends there for a great count of years, but he just couldn't do it. Since Eamon had passed, and Teagan was now very ill, there was really no need to visit.

He had also heard that the town had experienced a great flood a few years back, and that most of the original buildings, apart from the Arl's castle of course, were not there anymore, or were replaced by new, different structures.

He wanted to remember his home as it had been in his youth, full of the charm and quaintness of a lakeside town, and the younger faces of his friends and somewhat adopted family, not the new one full of new people.

Redcliffe was not the Redcliffe he knew, and so he had no desire to stop.

xxx

As the days wore on, and Alistair got closer to Orzammar, the dreams became more violent. Not only would he be awakened nearly every night from visions of demons, dragons, and darkspawn, he started to see them in his waking hours.

The first time he swore he spied a genlock from behind an oak tree, he quickly drew his blade and shouted for the creature to show itself.

Another time he heard the roar of an ogre coming from the path ahead.

And he once saw the shadow of some large flying beast pass him by.

He started to see terrifying faces and images when he closed his eyes, and soon the darkspawn's voices filled his head.

He could finally understand why wardens left for the Deep Roads. This was a slow form of torture that he knew only ended in his painful death, or his eventual turning into one of those he most despised, and had pledged his life to destroy.

xxx

He found it hard to focus now on good things.

His eyes were becoming blind to the beauty of the world, and he was forgetting things he knew should never have been forgotten.

He found himself reciting jokes and poems and stories dear to him, for he was afraid he'd forget.

He eventually did.

He then tried to cling on to the memories he had, but they became twisted and dark and were soon not his own.

And then he started focusing on the faces and voices of those he loved.

Idril.

Little Elissa.

Zevran.

Leliana.

They were disappearing quicker then he could recall them.

Eamon.

Teagan.

Oghren.

Sten.

Duncan.

He saw their features turn blurry.

Wynne.

Kylo.

Elissa.

Elissa.

Elissa...

...

...

They were gone, and he was filled with an aching, yawning emptiness.

He only remembered echoes of people he once knew. Almost like he awoke from a dream and was reaching, grasping desperately to hold on to what so recently was real. He remembered that he forgot, and this was perhaps the worst thing of all. It would have been easier to just forget everything and everyone.

But no. He knew there were people once that cared for him, and he knew they were there, just on the edge of memory.

xxx

Alistair despaired then. He threw himself upon the ground and laid there for what seemed like an age. Everything he once knew was gone from him. He was like an empty shell wandering the wilds. All that was left inside him was fear and noises and darkspawn faces. He couldn't even remember his own name.

He was aware of the sunlight dying, and the coming of the night. He knew his terrifying dreams of darkspawn would come, as they did every eve, but he was not afraid.

Why should he be? He had nothing left now, not even his memories. He was no one, nothing, and he was gone, dead to the world.

And when the night came, he saw them, and heard them, and they came closer and started hurting him, both in his mind and to his body.

And he did nothing, because there was nothing he could do.

But he had forgot that with his nightmares came his visions.

A great storm arrived slowly, and with a loud rumbling it came from the west and poured torrents of rain upon him and the darkspawn. The creatures fled in shrieks and roars, and the storm blew such a fierce wind at him that it forced his eyes open in alarm.

The gale was not a soft one like all the previous nights, but loud and strong, and the voice on it screamed at him to get up, stand up, keep moving.

He was not done yet.

He was more afraid of the voice than of every nightmare he ever had. It did not scare him, per se, but the force and the immense emotions behind it did. Being stripped of everything, he couldn't understand why the voice so fervently wanted him to continue his journey.

Why? Wouldn't it be easier to just stay here forever?

To let the darkspawn take him, as they did every Grey Warden?

" _It is not the darkspawn that take a Grey Warden, but his courage and bravery in the face of them,"_ the wind answered. " _To not become one of them, to not yield, to defy them until your last dying breath is what being a Warden is all about. That is what Wardens live and die by. They will not take you, Alistair. You will go by your own means, by the means of valour. By the means of love."_

At the mention of that very last word, something clicked into place deep down inside the king. Something so far buried that he never even knew it was there. He couldn't describe it, because he didn't really know what it was. But whatever it was, it spread slowly, burning and smoldering, from the deepest parts to the very tips of his fingers and toes and filled him with an enormous sense of _something._

Perhaps the closest explanation would be life.

He was filled with such a sense of life that it seemed as though his years stolen by the taint were being used up right at that moment. Like a star in the last moments of it's life, burning up all the fuel meant to serve it for another million years.

And Alistair, despite having absolutely nothing anymore, no friends, no memories, no time, and no reason, pulled himself up off the wet ground and stood on his own two feet again. He stood for but a moment, then finally went on his way with the storm still raging and the rain still falling.

That was the bravest thing Alistair had ever done.

xxx

And eventually, after many more long days and nights of wandering across the country he once saved and claimed as his own, the king was within reach of the gates of Orzammar. He had not been here since he and his friends had put a new king on the throne long ago. The guards let him pass up to the doors without question, for in the years after the blight, King Harrowmont let travellers and merchants pass by with little trouble. It allowed the dwarven city to expand both in size and knowledge of the outside world.

But since that night the king almost gave up, he had not reclaimed any memories. He passed the time trying to remember, but to no avail. He was still a walking shell of a man wandering the wilds, blind and delirious, but he refused to give in to his nightmares. He still saw them and heard them, but they would approach him no longer. And as though guided and protected by some unknown force, he found his way safely to the gates of the great dwarven city.

He took one last look around before he entered. He gazed up at the cloudless sky and the sun, and he breathed one last breath of crisp mountain air.

He didn't know much anymore, but he did know this was his last time he would ever be exposed to the outside world. In just a few moments, as soon as he stepped through the gates, he would never again feel the warmth of the sun, or the fall of the rain, or the whisper of the wind with _her_ voice on it. He would never see the great trees of the vast forests, nor the never-ending immenseness of the ocean. Never hear the insects on a warm summer's night, the low chatter of the market district of his city, or the giggles and 'I love you's of his family.

With a sigh, the king walked out of sight from the sun and into the earth.

xxx

He walked down the streets of the common district and past the stone shops and houses. The dwarves never questioned him. They stopped what they were doing when he passed, and they only looked at him with curiosity and respect. They knew he was a Grey Warden, and they knew where he was going. They gazed at the passing man who was more ghost than flesh, ragged and tired beyond compare, as he shuffled toward the entrance to the Deep Roads. He sensed he had been here before, but the memories were just beyond his reach. It tired him to try and remember, so he didn't. He simply accepted that this was a familiar place and continued on his way.

As he approached the entrance, the guards moved aside for him, and a few muttered a good luck or a farewell. He did not acknowledge them. Without halting this time, he stepped down into the Deep Roads again, alone this time, and began the last leg of his last journey.


	8. The End: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So I think I have one more chapter left of this story. But the chapter is super super long, so I'll be putting them out in parts. And I haven't decided yet if they'll all be out today or in the next day or so. Oh well. Whatever happens happens. Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Italics is Alistair's thoughts, and no italics is happening in the now. In case you were confused.

Without halting, he stepped down into the Deep Roads again, alone this time, and began the last leg of his last journey.

xxx

He wandered in the dark for days without stopping to eat or sleep. He really was in the likeness of a ghost. His mind wandered into places and times he’d never seen, and memories not his own. At times, his mind would go nowhere, and there were long stretches where he would snap to and find himself in a wholly different place in the Roads than when his mind blanked. There was no sound in the tunnels, save for the scraping of his own armoured boots on the rocky ground, and his heavy breathing in the thick musty air.

He felt utterly alone.

But he was _not_ alone. He had not heard nor seen Elissa since she willed him to stand that time in the storm, and he had not talked to her, but she had not abandoned him. She had guided and protected him through the wilds and up the mountain-side, through the gates of the dwarf kingdom and down into the Deep Roads.

She had never left him, and she didn’t intend to.

And that is why, when at last the sounds of darkspawn could faintly be heard in some deep tunnel of the Roads, and Alistair’s soul was nearly spent, she again filled him with a sense of life. This time, however, it was a million times stronger, and as the warmth spread to all corners of the king’s body, he was in such shock that he collapsed upon the dusty floor.

And in a moment as quick as a flash of lightning, and just as hot and bright, the Alistair that had been known to all those he ever met and ever loved returned to the world.

All of his memories, his thoughts, his reasoning and understanding of the world, his morals and his ways, his character, and everything that made him who he was flooded back into the body of the man lying on the floor in the ancient halls of stone.

He was the man he used to be, and so much more.

He rose slowly from the ground, his body weary no more, and stood tall and proud like the kings of old. He would _not_ succumb to the taint. He would _not_ die in vain. He would die with a purpose, fighting the darkspawn until his dying breath. And that purpose was in the name of love. Love of all the people he could call his friends, and those that were his family.

He would face his fate with courage and bravery, like Elissa Cousland did once, so long ago.

As he slowly strode towards the sounds of demons and the orange light of their war-fires scattering off the stone walls, he pulled his old sword from it’s sheath and yanked the amulet from round his neck that once belonged to his mother and was recovered by his lover. And as he did so, a memory, so crisp and clear it almost seemed it was happening in the now, flashed through his mind.

_He was standing in the Arl’s castle with a frown on his face and his arms crossed as Eamon began explaining that he would be leaving for the Chantry the next day. Rage, hurt, and fear flickered across the young boy’s face as he screamed his hatred at his adoptive father. He ripped the amulet from round his neck and threw it with such force that it shattered against the wall of the Arl’s study. With a last cry, the boy turned and fled down the halls and out the door to his bed in the stables. How could he do this? Did he not love him? It was that witch of a woman, Isolde, that made him do it. It had to be. He hated the Arl’s new wife with a passion, but perhaps Eamon even more so now that he allowed her to send him off like this._

He shook his head at the perfect memory, and continued on his way. And he heard the voice, not on the breeze this time, but in the utter stillness of the dark halls, and it whispered, _“Life means all that it ever meant”._

_He was older now, perhaps fifteen, and he was seated at a long table in the Chantry mess hall. The boys were quietly and properly eating their supper while the head sister, a rather large and mean-looking lady, paced up and down the length of the hall with a ruler in hand, ready to rap the knuckles of those who would dare to misbehave._

_With a wolfish grin and a sideways glance to his friend seated next to him, the young boy began making choking noises and grabbing at his throat. The whole hall had their eyes on him now. He then dramatically collapsed to the floor, writhing in imagined pain and gasping for air as he cried out he was being poisoned by the food._

_The hall erupted in a roar of laughter from the other children as they watched their comrade get roughly lifted from the ground and escorted out the mess hall by the large, now-furious sister, but not without a last glance over his shoulder and a wide smile to his friend who returned the gesture warmly._

He was fast approaching the orange lights. Their source could only be just around the next corner. The king increased his speed and set his will. “ _It is the same that it ever was”._

_He was watching, amused, as the dark-skinned man attempted to reason with the fat old sister. The man wished to recruit him into the Grey Wardens, and not a moment too soon. Tomorrow he was to be sworn in as a Templar, and he wanted nothing more than to run away at the mere thought of that._

_For some reason the batty old witch refused to let him go. She probably wanted to keep him around just to beat on him and use him as an example to the younger orphans of exactly how_ not _to behave. And if Alistair could remember one thing for the rest of his life, it would have been the look on the old lady’s face as the man declared the Right of Conscription on him. The sister threw her arms in the air and gave an exasperated string of profanities rarely heard in such a holy place before turning her back on the two men and stomping out of the room._

_He could not believe it. He was free! The older, darker male turned to face him, and Alistair knew this man was special to him. He knew his life had really just begun._

He steeled his willpower and turned the corner slowly. He had come upon a very large group of darkspawn milling about. They didn’t notice him. “ _There is absolute and unbroken continuity”._

_He was nervously awaiting his turn to drink from the Joining Chalice. Two men had already gone before him, and one of them had sank to his knees, writhing and screaming in pain, before the veins in his neck bulged out and he turned pale white and finally collapsed to the ground._

_This was madness! He could never survive his Joining! He was not a skilled warrior like Ser Mallory, nor as smart as Lyle. He wasn’t as daring as Ser Galen, either, and yet he failed the Joining. Why was that? Why in the Maker’s name was he chosen? Then he remembered what Duncan had said to him on their journey from the Chantry to the ruins of Ostagar. He had chosen Alistair, he said, because he sensed he had a good and loyal heart, and he admired his personality._

_Could character alone be enough to help him survive, now and into the future? As he held the shaking cup to his lips and drank deeply of all the mysteries that lay within, and later as he was shaken awake by the friendly face of Duncan, he knew that yes, it was enough. It had been and always would be._

The king stood there for a moment, watching the vile creatures go about their vile business, as if they had any purpose to their lives. They had stolen so much from him over his years. “ _Why should I be out of mind-”_

_Damn mages. He had never really liked them. Sure, they never turned him into a frog, but they always treated him like he was an idiot. Granted, he knew he was, but mages were the only ones to point that out to him. He had just finished being berated by one for simply delivering a message when he saw her turn round the corner._

_She strode up to him, and he looked into her eyes for the first time. They were grey, a deep grey, and it felt as though they had no bottom. They were not a beautiful sky blue or emerald green, and one could easily overlook them upon meeting her. But he was lost in them. He had never seen eyes like hers before._

_He was dumbstruck and said something stupid, to which she just laughed and smiled sadly. He had made a fool of himself that first conversation, and at the end, she called him an idiot. Whether it was in jest or she really meant it, he didn’t know._

_He was taken by this strange woman with stormy eyes who had insulted him during their first meeting. He wanted to know more about her, to talk with her, to really know who she was. Little did he know that this woman would change his life forever._

He took a deep breath, one that seemed to last a lifetime, and as he let it out, he bellowed with all the force he could muster. The creatures turned to look at their intruder. “- _because I am out of sight?”_

_He was finding it hard to pay attention. He had been in charge of cooking supper tonight, and he was doing a terrible job at it. He would either burn the food or undercook it. Most of his friends had taken a few bites, and then set their bowls down, claiming they were full. But Elissa had eaten every last morsel of food he had cooked for her without a trace of disgust on her beautiful face._

_And that was the problem: she was the most amazing person he had ever met. She was not a proper noble like he had expected, but a bold, brash, and stubborn individual who cared deeply about the troubles of her friends. She was so unpredictable as well. Like right now. He expected her to throw the revolting food into the fire and call him an ill-adept blockhead before stomping into her tent. But there she was, swallowing the last of her mushy lamb stew, and standing up to get a second bowl._

_He shyly walked over to her and asked if she really did like his food. With a small laugh, she answered no, but she couldn’t refuse it. He was too cute and she didn’t want to upset him. She knew how he liked to be wanted and feel like he was needed. He was touched, and he blurted out his confession to her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and she was driving him mad._

_She merely smiled at him and thanked him for the stew as she rose and went to talk to Morrigan. By the Maker, he was embarrassed. He was terrible at wooing. He had totally blown it. She was the first woman he’d ever fallen for. Maybe he’d go ask Zevran for advice._

The darkspawn shrieked and roared and snarled upon seeing him. They drew their weapons as one, and stomped the ground in anger. They looked terrifying in the broken orange light of their fires. He was ready. _“Nothing is hurt”._

_He could not hold it in any longer. He had tried. Maker’s breath, he had tried to resist himself. But every time she gave him that look, every time she touched him, every time they kissed, his breath would hitch in his throat and his mind would blank. He would be filled with such desire and need that more than once he had to awkwardly excuse himself to his tent so she didn’t notice… how happy he was._

_He had told her he loved her yesterday, after the disastrous encounter with his sister. He was so distressed that his own blood cared nothing for him, had only wanted his money. No one cared for him. Only Duncan, and he was dead. Elissa comforted him, and told him that she cared. He was overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he said it. And he meant it with all his heart. And she had said it back!_

_So now, as he paced back and forth by the fire trying to find a way to ask her, he was so nervous and he started to sweat and ohtheMakershewascomingtowardshim and she asked him if he was alright, and he knew it was time. She seemed startled at first but agreed, and he took her to bed and they made love and he was so nervous (never having done anything like that before) and it was the best night of his life._

_And when they were done, and she lay in his arms smiling, he knew then that she was the one for him, and he would never let her go._


	9. The End: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello there! Sorry, I meant to post this much sooner, but alas, there is a great lack of good wifi while one is travelling. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

He started running then, as fast as he could, with his old sword at the ready and his amulet still clutched in his hand. He carried no shield, for he had no need of one. He didn't need to be safe anymore. He howled another battle cry and leapt into the fray. _"Nothing is lost"._

_They were staying in the Spoiled Princess, the dingy little bar on the shores of Lake Calenhad. His whole party was there, and they were celebrating cleansing the Circle of demons, their last quest before they made off to Denerim for the Landsmeet._

_Wynne, their newest companion, was in a deep conversation with Leliana, probably concerning the Chantry if he knew the sister at all._

_Zevran and Oghren were arguing about who could hold down the most alcohol, an elf or a dwarf? Elves, the assassin said, had a certain immunity to the stuff, while dwarves, said the shorter man, could drink a barrel a minute before they felt the effects an hour later. Alistair chuckled at that, remembering the time he and his Warden companions took up a challenge by that burly bearded man whose name he forgot and nearly drank themselves to death. He still missed Duncan and his friends and his old life, but he had a lover now who he would die for and who helped him move on and create new memories._

_The malicious witch refused to fraternise with the lot of them and retired to her rented room. Good riddance, he thought. He really hated her._

_Sten was talking to the bartender - well, intimidating would be an apt description – and he and Elissa sat alone in the corner table in the dim light of the grimy oil lamp, heads together, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. She told him that she would never leave him, and that they'd always be together._

_His heart soared, his eyes lit up and he felt like he was floating. He stood abruptly, calling his friends near, and requesting Leliana sing a song as he bought more ale for them all and drank the night away in such high spirits he thought he was dreaming, until the next morning when he awoke and found himself in a bed he didn't remember entering with her beside him and his friends scattered all over the room, some on the floor, some in a chair, all fast asleep with dopey grins on their faces and the stench of ale on their breath._

_He smiled as the sun shone through the dirty window and illuminated the dust motes in the air. He wished times like these could go on forever, but he knew in a moment the dog would bark at the birds flying past the window, and everyone would rise, and prepare themselves for a long day of travelling to their next objective, and then after that, who knows? At least he wouldn't be journeying alone._

He parried the advances of a hurlock and immediately lopped its head off. He sliced through a few genlocks, and kicked a hurlock emissary in the chest to knock it back. He had such raw power built up inside him that he felt he could battle on forever. _"Nothing has happened"._

_He was pacing in front of the fireplace while Zevran and Leliana sat on the corner of his bed, watching him, in his room at the palace._

_He had gathered them here because it was the tenth anniversary of Elissa Cousland's death._

_He wanted a special ceremony to honour her, but he didn't know what to do, and he needed advice. He was visibly upset and on the verge of tears before Zevran, in one of his finer moments, stood and put his hand on his best friend's shoulder, looked him in the eyes, and simply said he was there for him, and he was not alone._

_He didn't mitigate the situation, he didn't pretend to feel no pain from her loss as well, and he didn't say things will get better, because the elf had been through so much to know_ that _never happened. Things never got better, they just got easier to live with._

_And that is why the king took such a liking to the elf after he called upon him. They had experienced similar hurts and the elf never lied. He appreciated the truthfulness of his companion, when all about him pretentious nobles faked their concerns and gave him false pity. Zevran was his rock amidst the storm of lies and deceit of his new life._

_He smiled back to the former Crow, and they embraced warmly and long, while the king let his tears fall freely to the unjudging shoulders of his best friend. Leliana looked on with a sad smile._

A particularly large Hurlock swung his axe at the king, who tried to dodge it, but was not fast enough. The sharp edge sliced through the armour of his forearm, cutting deep and causing him to bleed profusely. He swore in pain as he dropped his amulet and watched it get crushed beneath the creature that wounded him. _"One brief moment-"_

_The dinner with Idril had not been going well at all._

_He kept fumbling over his words, and saying stupid things, and his jokes were not as funny anymore. It was hopeless, and he knew it. She was an attractive young woman who was obviously entertaining him, perhaps with hopes of marrying him and acquiring his wealth and status. She didn't care for him. No one would ever love him as much as Elissa had._

_His eyes grew dark and he hung his head in shame before excusing himself from the table of the palace dining room, leaving the Bann's daughter there with a puzzled look on her face._

_The king shuffled into the gardens and was surprised to hear the voice of his guest behind him softly ask if he was alright. They sat down together on a bench surrounded by rose bushes and placed in front of a beautiful fountain. He spilled his guts to her, talking of his early life before Duncan found him, of his time with the Wardens, of the years he travelled Ferelden, of all his friends he met on the way, and of_ her _._

_He didn't really know why he told her of his life. Any other noble would have laughed at him, or run off to their friends to gossip about how frail their king was. But tell her he did. And she listened with rapt attention the entire time, not once interrupting him, but instead putting a warm comforting hand on his own shaking ones as he tried not to cry._

_He had never really wanted this life, he told her. He would give it all up just to be on the road with his friends again, laughing and talking easy. She stated that she too wished she was never born with royalty in her blood, and had instead been born to somebody, anybody, a commoner even, with more knowledge of the world and of things that really mattered. She longed for adventure and friends to share in it._

_She had never told anybody that, she said, as she was supposed to grow up and have children so her Sighard lineage could continue. Some life that was._

_He saw then that she was different than other noblewomen he'd met, true to her word and honest to a fault. He saw in her a desire for more than what she'd been given, and no amount of wealth or status could make her truly happy. Only love could do that. And he gave it to her._

In rage he stuck the massive hurlock through with his sword, twisting it into his gut as the poisonous blood spattered his armour. A genlock, hidden behind the body of the hurlock, heaved it's fist into Alistair's face. A sickening crunch followed by another cry of pain could be heard amidst the battle. _"-and all will be as it was before"._

_He was in the palace gardens again, waiting for her. He was so nervous he could hardly contain himself, and had taken to pacing up and down the rows of shrubs and flowers._

_Meet me here at noon, he had told her. She was late. He winced up at the sky as he observed the sun's position. Ok, maybe she wasn't late, and maybe he was getting ahead of himself._

_He had known Idril for exactly a year, and was going to ask her to marry him today. She made him happier than he'd been in fifteen years, ever since the blight had been put to an end. He loved her, and she was perfect for him: loving, caring, funny, patient, with a hint of stubbornness and a will all her own._

_Best of all, he took the time to know who she really was. He had received much pushing by Eamon over the last while to choose a wife, but he was always met with a stony glare which halted his next words. And everyone in the kingdom had known he would ask Idril. They just didn't know when. Most kings never fell in love, or even chose their wives. So everyone was getting impatient. But Alistair would wait. He wanted to know if she truly was the one, and time had proven him right._

_And so, as he saw her round the corner and walk across the grassy path to him with a smile on her face, he knew Elissa was smiling down upon him, and perhaps it was her that helped him get over his fear and bend down on one knee and ask the question he had waited his whole life to ask. He loved Idril, and she loved him, and he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with her by his side. He was happy._

Pain exploded across the king's face, and he was momentarily blinded by it. This gave the hurlock archer standing on some rocks just enough time to load and shoot an ice arrow into his shoulder. It shattered into shards of ice that embedded themselves inside him. " _I am but waiting for you"._

_As soon as he was called upon by a messenger, the king blanched and rose from the desk in his study, hands shaking, heart soaring. His mind went blank for a moment, then he came to and raced down the halls as fast as he could until he reached the doors of the bedroom he shared with his wife._

_He was permitted to enter, as it hadn't really started yet. He peered into the room and saw Idril laying on the bed in the dim light with many nurses fussing over her and running to and fro, grabbing bowls of water and towels. He smiled when he saw her, and he softly spoke her name as he reached for her pale hand. She looked up at him, and grimaced in pain._

_He told her how proud he was of her, and how much he loved her, and how he couldn't wait to meet their child. He leaned down to kiss her, and was told by a plump and red-faced nurse to leave. He squeezed Idril's hand in support and left the room._

_He waited outside the doors for hours, along with Eamon, Zevran, Bann Sighard, and a few curious maids and visiting nobles. He hated hearing the pained screams of his spouse, and he started to worry. What if the child was corrupt? What if the taint in his own blood had poisoned his wife, and she was dying? Before his musings ran too wild and he became mad with worry, the wail of an infant pierced his thoughts, and Leliana poked her head through the door and smiled at him, inviting him inside._

_He was trembling from head to foot as he approached Idril, who was pale and sweating and holding a bundle of cloth. She looked at him with a smile on her face this time, and as he sat on the corner of the bed, Leliana and Zevran put a comforting hand on each of his shoulders._

_His wife held out their child to him, and the king gazed into the squinting grey eyes of his daughter for the very first time._

_He was euphoric, the happiest he'd ever been, and so overcome with emotions he teared up and reached for her tiny finger as she latched on to his._

_Meet Elissa, Idril said._


	10. The End: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so here it is! The final chapter! It's much longer than all the rest, but I'm glad with it. So thanks to all who read, favourite, followed, and commented. It really means a lot! I hope you all enjoyed reading the story as much as I did writing it! 
> 
> Kiwi out.

Alistair's shoulder erupted in white-hot pain, despite being pierced with hundreds of pieces of sharp ice. He dropped his sword, and it was kicked away by the largest, nastiest, and most terrifying ogre he had ever seen. He could only guess that this was their leader. " _For an interval"._

_It was midday, and Alistair was wandering amongst the trees that bordered the forests surrounding Denerim._

_An observer could easily tell he was looking for something amongst the pines and oaks by the way he was bending over, and gazing into the canopies, and peering around rocks. He was never good at this game. He was a clumsy, loud warrior trying to find two rogues and his daughter who was destined to become one._

_It was a beautiful sunny day, cool and clear and with a slight comforting breeze which easily carried the songs of birds. He heard the voice of his wife then, who called them all over to eat their lunch. They were out in the forest for the day, enjoying the weather and had brought along some food. They brought no servants or cooks, for the king and the queen desired to feed themselves. Eamon had insisted that they bring along a small party of guards at least, just so they didn't get ambushed by an assassin hired by an angry nobleman wishing to be rid of the royal family. He had accepted grudgingly, but had told the guards to stay put while he played a game of hide-and-seek with Little Elissa, Leliana, and Zevran. For all their tough exterior and harsh lives the three companions had shared, they were still young at heart and enjoyed a little playtime now and again._

_As the king turned to head back to where Idril was, he heard a small giggle from the large tree above him and looking up, he saw the small frame of his six year old daughter perched on the lowest branch. The sun shining through the leaves of the trees gave a soft green glow to the princess and illuminated her childish features and her cunning smile. Before he could say anything, she had leaped down with all the grace of the Dalish and landed softly on her father's shoulders. He was surprised to say the least, and laughed aloud when she giggled maniacally from her new perch, delirious from the fresh air and her successful 'assassination' attempt._

_He heard the light tinkling laugh of Leliana and the deeper, haughty laugh of Zevran as they too jumped down from the trees and walked over to the man and his daughter. They patted her on the back and congratulated her with wide smiles, obviously proud that their roguish teachings didn't go unheeded._

_The three companions and the princess stood in the bright forest laughing until they clutched at their sides and were gasping for breath. They eventually gathered their wits and their breaths and made their way to the small clearing where Idril had set up their midday meal._

_T_ _he assassin and the bard loved Little Elissa like they would a niece, and indeed, she called them her aunt and uncle (though the two never had any sexual relationship, much to the elf's slight disappointment). They taught her the ways of the rogue – how to move unnoticed, how to use daggers swiftly, how to talk with a silver tongue and, much to her parents' chagrin, how to pick locks and pockets. She was a fast learner and already at the age of six she showed promises of becoming great. Well, she was taught by the best._

The other darkspawn had backed away and were cackling wildly at the scene before them. The king and the ogre glared at each other for but a moment before the massive creature bent over and gave a deafening roar right in his face. Foul breath and droplets of poisonous spit flew from the rancid mouth of the darkspawn leader and showered the king. Alistair squinted, but held his ground firmly. This infuriated the creatures. " _Somewhere"._

_Alistair hadn't been to Weisshaupt since the day he watched them put_ her _into the cement casket beside the four other Grey Wardens who met the same fate as she._

_It was many years ago now, perhaps 30 or so, and the old fortress had never looked better. The Wardens had reclaimed and restored much of the buildings and surrounding land, and were stronger in Ferelden than they had ever been before. He granted them much money from taxes and was highly involved in their politics, and as such finally accepted an invitation from their commander regarding important business and to attend a meeting in the fort._

_His wife and daughter, now nine, had accompanied him, both wishing to see for themselves the great fortress they had heard so much of from the king. Zevran and Leliana had tagged along too, of course._

_Alistair hadn't been there in so long because he didn't think he could stand to look down upon the grave of the woman he once knew, or up at the marble statue carved in her exact image._

_But here he was, on this chilly Autumn afternoon, where the sun couldn't decide whether it wanted to be seen or not. He was standing there with his family and friends, and not one of them spoke. The soft wind blew dead leaves around their feet, and the vines were crawling their way up and around the statues and plaques. The king looked up into the stone face of his fellow Warden, which managed to capture much of her looks. He felt no hurt or sadness as he did so, much to his surprise. But there was something missing._

_The statue, for all it's precision and accuracy, had not ensnared the spirit of Elissa Cousland. The haughty, stubborn, impulsive, unpredictable, yet deeply caring noblewoman that few really knew was not shown in the sculpture._

_It did not tell the story, her story, and how she had loved, lost, rejected, and loved again._

_How she was saved by a bumbling idiot and a band of misfits._

_That she had to make immensely difficult choices that would always condemn some, no matter how hard she tried._

_How heavy her burdens were at times, and how she was not the unbreakable, faultless, untouchable hero that legend had fashioned._

_It saddened the king that so many admired her and loved her, yet almost no one knew her. That no one, after he and his friends were gone, ever would. This exceptional woman deserved so much more than a statue made of stone._

_But he resigned to the fact that he, at least, had known and loved her._

_Maybe that was enough._

_Maybe that was all she needed._

_He walked over to the statue and placed a single red rose near her feet and above the inscription that read 'ELISSA COUSLAND - HERO OF FERELDEN, CONQUERER OF THE FIFTH BLIGHT, LEADER IN ALL THAT IS GOOD, AND FRIEND TO THOSE SHE LOVED - 9:30 DRAGON AGE'. He slowly ran his fingers over the smooth carved inscription of her name, and after a moment, his young daughter walked up beside him and took his hand. She pointed and asked who the statue was of._

_The king smiled sadly, and simply told her she was a friend._

The ogre leader roared in fury and picked him up roughly. It brought the man very close to its face. The king did not struggle. He did not yell, and he did not fight. In that moment Alistair remembered how the previous king had died. Was he destined to end the same way – in the hands of an ogre? The creature tightened his grip on the king, and just when he thought he couldn't take any more pressure, the hideous monster hurled him with all it's might against the wall of the ancient dwarven stone halls. " _Very Near"._

_It was a sizzling day in the city, in the height of summer, and the dust kicked up by the dry air was enough to choke you. Only young children ran through the city streets, their parents too hot and exhausted to venture past their front doors. And, of course, Little Elissa was out in the training grounds of the palace._

_Sweat dripped from the face of the thirteen-year-old princess as she hacked and slashed at the straw dummies set up around her. She was alone in the yard, with only her young Mabari for company. The pup's sire was Kylo, and the princess was thrilled when the dog chose her as his master. For she had loved the old wardog that visited on occasion with the Teyrn of Highever, her father's friend._

_Little Elissa was a rogue, and of course preferred her two daggers to the sword and shield. The daggers she was using were given to her by Zevran, and she treasured them greatly. They were of Antivan make, and so were extra sharp and relatively light. Perfect for assassins, the elf joked._

_The young woman was erratic in her slashes, and one could tell she was easily becoming frustrated. The king was watching his daughter from a window in his study, and decided he better intervene before she hurt herself. As he stepped down into the yard, Little Elissa gave a frustrated and pained cry as she dropped her daggers, kicked them aside, and grasped her forearm. Her impatience had caused her to slip up, and she had cut through the armour her father had had made for her. It was not deep, and bled only a little, but what pained her more, as she told her father, was her ineptitude. She was too slow and clumsy, she voiced, and would never be learned in the art of stealth._

_As he began to console her, she ignored him and picked up her daggers and started slashing at the dummies again. He smiled to himself. She never failed to surprise him. She was so like the original Elissa he had once known. His daughter was bold, and stubborn, and was not easily swayed. She was also a rogue, and a damned good one at that. He knew his daughter did not really think herself clumsy. It was just the heat and the dust getting to her. And, more likely, she was very upset over her mentor's recent death, and was venting her anger and sadness out in the courtyard. Her uncle Zevran had been dear to her, and for the past week or two she had been unapproachable._

_She was exceptionally clever and could talk her way out of any problem. She had a good heart, too. And she had those deep grey eyes so alike Elissa Cousland's._ _The king decided it was time._

_He rose to his feet, and went back into the palace, leaving his frustrated daughter to herself. He unlocked a chest in his room, the one that contained relics of his adventures, and, moving aside an old Highever shield, a few stone statuettes, and a golden helmet, he took out a bundle of cloth that wrapped a very special weapon. He sighed, and left the castle halls, coming back to the training grounds._

_And it was there he gave Little Elissa a beautifully crafted wave-edged dagger known to some as the Rose's Thorn. It had once belonged to his fellow Grey Warden and had been her weapon of choice. She had handed it to him right before she ran towards the dragon that day, and the king knew now that she meant it to be given to one worthy of it._

_His daughter stirred from her brooding anger and accepted with a wide-eyed smile, and quietly asked who it's former wielder was._

_Alistair smiled sadly, and simply told her it once belonged to a friend._ _The young princess smiled knowingly._

_And though she didn't say it, it meant more to her than all the gold her family possessed. And he could not have given it to anyone more deserving than the young woman who shared his blood and was nearly Elissa Cousland reincarnated._

Alistair heard, rather than felt, his body breaking. As he lie upon the cold stone floor, and saw the large, purulent feet of the ogre slowly approach him, and the other darkspawn dancing and cackling around them in the darkness, he went numb. Perhaps it was a last effort by his body to prevent further pain and save itself. Maybe it was the grace of the Maker, or the spirit of Elissa Cousland. Whatever the reason, he felt no pain, despite being wholly broken. And this is why, in his last moments, the king was able to rise to his knees and face the ogre leader. His armour was rent beyond repair, and his vision was waning, but he looked the snarling creature in the eyes. " _Just around the corner"._

_You are standing on the top of Fort Drakon, heaving deep breaths as your armour, dented and splattered with blood, weighs you down immensely, your body and mind exhausted beyond compare, sword and shield in hand._

_The massive black and deep purple creature, it's colour and scales eerily and deceivingly reminiscent of a peaceful night sky, splits the air as it roars in pain and fury. A final death cry, you realise._

_And as you slowly turn your head to your left, your tired eyes meet the deep grey ones of your lover, your best friend, your sister-in-arms. And you notice something amiss in her misty orbs. Something akin to understanding, sadness, pity, sorrow, remembrance, fondness, regret, and love. They all flash through her mind and show in her eyes in fractions of a second, but you notice all of them._

_Not guilt, though. No, there is no more guilt in her eyes any more._

_But the last one, love, flashes for a moment and flickers, as if she is thinking back on her life, back to times you never knew, and came across this emotion, and was stumped. And her eyes, now burning with love, light up, and look so deep inside of you that you feel for a fraction of a moment that she has actually reached down and grabbed your mind, your heart, and your soul. Perhaps she has._

_But before you can come to terms with what has just happened, she pulls her favourite dagger from the sheath, tosses it towards you, and breaks eye contact. She turns away, and your world slows down._

_She is running, running so fast, and yet so slow. You drop your weapons and try to yell, but nothing comes out._

_The dragon is roaring, the city is burning, the sky has opened up, and little golden flecks of fiery embers swirl around the body of the slowly running woman. It is a beautiful sight. You don't think you have seen anything so magnificent in all your days._

_And, after a thousand lifetimes, she grabs a simple longsword protruding from the chest of some dead body. Darkspawn or human, it doesn't matter now. After a thousand more, she approaches the ferocious snarling midnight dragon, absolutely mad with pain and rage._

_She kneels and raises her sword, and you can see it all the way from here that her actions are deliberate, and have a smoothness and a force behind them that you have witnessed countless times before. But there is purpose behind them, which you have never seen. A resolute drive, one with finality, and the acceptance of the inevitable._

_And it is here that you suddenly and finally realise what is about to happen. Your heart drops through the hard stone floor of the fort, your limbs go numb, and your tired brain wheels uncontrollably into overdrive, your mind spitting out images, ideas, and alternate outcomes, doing anything and everything in it's power to come up with a solution to prevent what is about to happen._

_But you know, deep inside, that this is it. The end is so close. Nothing you do now will change the will of the Maker._

_You manage a weak, strangled yell this time, and watch in horror and awe as the sword slices effortlessly through the scaled neck of the writhing monster, bright red blood spattering the dented, worn silver armour of the creature's slayer. The enraged dragon thrashes it's enormous body around in white-hot agony, swirling even more tiny, fiery embers through the smoky air. The woman hears your call, and slowly turns her head in your direction._

_And this is when you know that your light hazel eyes will gaze their last upon the deep grey ones. The ones of the person whose life you saved and is forever bound to your own._

_There is a power behind that last glance, you can tell, and you can feel it wind its way around your body like thick cords, tightening slowly, until you cannot move. It is not uncomfortable, though, and not wholly restraining, more like a hand placed gently on a friend's shoulder than a harsh grip._

_Your body is rooted to the spot by the power of her gaze, but your soul is as free as the wind. And like it, it flutters softly towards the essence of the only other warden in all of Ferelden._

_And though you are not there in body as she plunges her sword into the thick skull of the corrupted Old God in the form of a dragon, you know you are with her as she departs from this world, and you can feel the God steal away her life, seeping it like water from her body. A piece of you attaches itself onto the passing soul, because you can feel it._

_And for a moment you are one._

_You can see in your mind's eye people and places you've never seen, but you know them as well as she does. You feel every emotion coursing through her at this moment, and the physical white-hot pain of the God stealing her life. It is almost unbearable._

_You share in her suffering and together, you destroy the monster._

_You watch as the light leaves her eyes, and you know this is as good a farewell as you will ever get. And you know that she is grateful for you being here with her, and you know that she loves you, because it is the last thought she ever has._

_And when the world explodes in a blinding blaze of light and you and your companions are thrown from your feet, you know she is gone. You know because that little part of you is not here anymore, and you know that it never will be again._

_._

_._

_This last memory comes flooding into your mind after thirty-five years. You've buried it so deep and for so long that you forgot exactly what happened that day. But here it is. You are not afraid of it anymore, though, and rather welcome it. The puzzle pieces, the real ones, finally find where they belong, and it all comes together. You can see it now. It's all part of the world's greatest story, waiting all these long years to be told. And the end is so close._

_._

_._

Alistair was fading.

He felt himself being dragged back into somewhere by an invisible force. He no longer felt the surge of youth and life renewed as he so recently had. He felt like the old worn man his years had given him. He was weak and tired. He was not afraid of death any more.

He was ready to die.

He was going home.

The massive ogre drew a gigantic cleaver from it's sheath on it's back and raised it high above it's head. And then, more memories flooded the king's failing mind.

Just small ones, insignificant ones, but they meant everything to him.

A full moon over a lakeshore.

A sly smile from a stranger.

The distant bark of a war dog.

A battlefield view from a bridge.

The sun peeking through the leaves.

A flicker of light from the top of a tower.

A figure standing in the snow.

The flash of silver daggers.

The laugh of a friend.

A beech tree on a hill.

A rose twirling in his hands.

The roar of a dragon.

The faces of his friends and family, and their voices too.

In the last seconds of his life, as the cleaver came down slowly, ever so slowly, not fast enough for the king, he saw _her_ again. Just a flash, but she was more solid, more beautiful, more _real_ than he'd ever seen her in life. She smiled at him, and reached out for him. And that piece of himself that had been lost ever since the day she left him found it's way back.

And as he looked into her deep grey eyes again, and reached out and grasped her hand, the cleaver came down upon the king.

In a blinding flash of light, and a note of song deeper than the abyss and higher than the firmament, Alistair, bastard child, former Templar, Grey Warden, adventurer, hero, king, lover, husband, father, friend, a broken and mended man, was gone.

He ran to his fate with a sword in his hands like death was nothing at all.

_"_ _All is well"._


End file.
